


Cornered

by holymolyitsjoely



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: And Hugo-esque, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Hope you like it x, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, If i got this wrong, Ive tried to make it sound beautiful, Just a retelling of the exr death tbh, M/M, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16977870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holymolyitsjoely/pseuds/holymolyitsjoely
Summary: 'The smell of gunpowder hung in the air as the dust settled on the array of the once pristine furniture of the Musain café. Nothing beside silence remained intact, with the exception of the one almost lifeless figure slumped over a table with with a bottle in his hand. Had it not been for his dark, ivy green waistcoat, the entire scene would have looked like a sepia photograph.'





	Cornered

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fic so please be kind x  
> And I hope you enjoy my little retelling of Victor Hugo's wonderful ideas!

The smell of gunpowder hung in the air as the dust settled on the array of the once pristine furniture of the Musain café. Nothing beside silence remained intact, with the exception of the one almost lifeless figure slumped over a table with with a bottle in his hand. Had it not been for his dark, ivy green waistcoat, the entire scene would have looked like a sepia photograph.

Gunshots echoed outside. Silence rang out inside. Both were of no comfort - all familiar sounds were dead.

But then, a new sound reverberated around the shaky foundations of the café like it was an echo in a cave off a forgotten shore. Footsteps, a sound too often taken for granted, came closer, reminiscent of the thud of the bodies of the young revolutionaries on the barricade as they fell.

A flash of blood red burst through the doorway, followed by half a dozen guns, poised. The flash of scarlet was in fact a man's waistcoat, perfectly complementing his golden hair, falling in tresses at his shoulders. He would almost have looked smart had it not been for the smear of blood across his shirt.

Even so, he still looked angelic as he was backed up to the window of the once lively café. Ironically, he was cornered, yet as near as he could possibly be to his only means of escape. However, being the noble fighter he always had been, he knew surrender was out of the question. He had fought with every ounce of strength and fervor up to this point - why would he stop now? He was prepared to die for his country, just as his friends had done under his leadership. He was prepared to die fighting for a new world that would rise up like the sun, whether it be with his fellow revolutionaries by his side, or alone.

He was certain he would be facing his fate surrounded by only the barrels of guns and the unforgiving soldiers at the other end of them, when the drunkard rose from his stupor, as if struck by lightning, and found his way towards the leader in red.

His steps were clumsy, as if he was unsure of his destination, but his eyes were fixed on the apollo in front of him; unwavering. Their gaze never met, not once, until they were both stood in front of the window, their forms merely silhouettes against the yellow-orange sun outside.

They knew their time on Earth was finite. They knew they had walked into this rebellion with the firm knowledge that they might not walk back out again. But it was evident in their soft gazes that they did not suspect their ending would come so soon. Two days. In two days they had hoped, loved, dreamed and fought. But not hard enough.

As the guardsmen prepared to follow through on the last commands the revolutionaries would ever hear, weapons raised, the inebriate turned to the chief with a warm, glowing smile, hand held out tentatively.

"Permets-tu?"he ventured, with a slight nod toward his outstretched limb.

With an answering smile, the blonde leader pressed their hands together as eight bullets pierced him and nailed him to the wall. His companion fell at his feet, head hung low yet hands still entwined, a symbol that they stood united over their cause at last. A message that the drunken cynic and the marble fighter could live in peace, even if it wasn't on this Earth.

The final gunshot echo rang out.

The smell of gunpowder hung in the air as the dust settled on the array of the once pristine furniture of the Musain café. Nothing beside silence remained intact. The entire scene looked like a sepia photograph, capturing the final moments of two forgotten heroes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed or even just wanna give feedback then please leave comments and kudos! It would mean so much ❤  
> Come find me on tumblr at holymolyitsjoely, I'm mostly Les Mis and musicals with a bit of Panic! at the Disco too😊


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